


Character Break

by Mackem



Series: Imaginary Advent Calendar 2012 [18]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dylan and Tyler indulge in a little Stiles and Derek roleplay. Character breaks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Character Break

**Author's Note:**

> Every year, I write what I call my Imaginary Advent Calendar, where each day until December 25th I open another day of an advent calendar that doesn’t exist and write what I picture various people or characters in different shows/fandoms/books in a holidays context. This year I’ve challenged myself to write a ficlet for every day. See Vicky panic! They’ll be in various different fandoms and pairings, and won’t be particularly long (except the ones that eat my brain). Enjoy! X!
> 
> Teen Wolf RPF! Because they ship themselves. I love the concept of them roleplaying as Stiles and Derek, but decided that maybe they could switch things around a little. You don't know how much effort it took not to call this, "The Thigh's The Limit."

It’s not that he’s having a bad time, because he’s _not_. He’s really not, and if Posey asks him one more time if he’s really enjoying himself, do you _promise_ , then Dylan will do something he’ll regret, like…like sigh, and tell Tyler once again that _yes_ , he’s having a good time, because Dylan could never say anything truly mean to Tyler Posey. The guy’s got puppy dog eyes that have Dylan helplessly wrapped around his little finger. If Posey ever has a personality transplant and decides to become an evil genius, Dylan will be doomed to be his mindlessly obedient minion; carrying out despicable acts while explaining apologetically that Tyler Posey’s face is made of sunshine and you can‘t actually say no to him.

So he’s enjoying the Teen Wolf Christmas party, honestly. It’s just that Dylan has some kind of internal limit on how much social interaction he can take in a day, and after working for hours then spending even more time in the company of the entire cast and crew, he’s pretty much maxed that limit out. He can feel himself tensing up minutely as he draws away from people, backing up into a quiet corner and brushing friendly conversations off as disarmingly as possible, his smile tight and fake.

He’s already eying the exits when Hoechlin strolls over and offers him a gentle smile. Dylan can never hide from him for too long; to be honest, he’s never wanted to.

“Hey.”

“Hey, man.”

“You okay?” Hoechlin asks lightly. He leans against the wall beside Dylan and gives him a gentle nudge of his shoulder. Dylan nudges back in return, not surprised to feel himself settling a little.

“Mmhmm.” Hoechlin nods, and leans close to murmur softly in his ear.

“Want to get out of here?”

“Yes, please,” he breathes, and lets Hoechlin take him by the elbow and lead him out of the party. Leaving on his own would only ensure somebody following, wanting to drag him back, but the two of them leaving together? That pretty much guarantees them some private time.

So maybe he and Hoechlin have a reputation. Apparently being caught fooling around in various set locations will do that to a couple. It’s fine, they can deal. Dylan particularly enjoys the shade of pink Tyler always turns whenever they get a knowing smirk.

“You ready to go home?” Hoechlin asks when they’re safely outside, the party noise fading as they walk. Dylan stretches but finds himself wide awake and kind of giddy, bouncing along as his anxiety fades.

It’s the bucks fizz, it must be. It’s not that he’s not used to drinking - hello, it’s not like he had bothered waiting until he turned twenty one to sample the fine assortment of alcoholic beverages the world had to offer - but he doesn’t usually start so early in the day. Who throws a Christmas party in the afternoon?

Okay, so maybe people who have been working nights for most of the past few weeks. Like the Teen Wolf cast and crew.

“No, I don’t think so,” he says, before an idea strikes. He bounces in front of Tyler, a filthy grin spreading across his face. “Hey, you know that thing you wanted to do? The roleplay thing?”

“Uh, sure,” Hoechlin smiles, and already an adorable flush is spreading across his cheeks. Dylan actually cannot deal with how precious he is. When he had blushed and squirmed and stammered his way through explaining his fantasy to Dylan last week, he had been unable to take his eyes off him. Tyler wants them to indulge in a little roleplay; bringing Stiles and Derek into their bedroom, in a way. Dylan is a-okay with that, thank you _very_ much. “What about it?”

“Well, you just busted us out of the party, and we basically have the set to ourselves,” Dylan beams. “We could totally do it, man. Where better to let Derek and Stiles out to play than right here in Beacon Hills! We could make it happen right now. You want to?”

“Really?” Hoechlin asks, his eyes crinkling as he smiles sheepishly. “Right here? I wasn’t - I didn’t picture it on the set. You don’t think we’re pushing our luck, kind of? There’s only so many times Jeff can tell us to put our dicks away and get back to work before he’ll actually fire us, don’t you think?”

“We’re not invincible, I get you,” Dylan nods. He bounces as another idea strikes. “But our dressing rooms, man, that’s gotta be neutral ground, right? I mean, we’re expected to be naked in there. We’re practically _required_ to be. You can’t dress without _un_ -dressing first.”

“You…have something approaching a good point,” Tyler concedes. Their eyes meet, and they share twin smirks.

The journey to Hoechlin’s dressing room is undertaken in nothing less than a sprint, the two of them hand-in-hand and giggling at nothing much as they run. They lock the door behind them after they burst inside, and waste no time in getting their hands and lips all over each other. The both of them are feeling silly and excitable, both keyed up after hours of work followed by hours spent laughing and dancing, and when Tyler presses him up against the wall to dig his fingertips into his sides and _tickles_ , Dylan can’t stop himself laughing.

“No! Stop it!” he giggles, squirming and grabbing Hoechlin’s wrists. The stern look he aims at him is definitely undermined by the bubbles of laughter escaping from him. “We’re meant to be in character, remember? We’re Derek and Stiles! Derek and Stiles do not get into tickle fights! Concentrate!”

“I’m trying!” Hoechlin protests, but he’s laughing and grinning that stupid, gorgeous smile of his.

Dylan shakes his head, and doesn’t bother to fight back his dizzy grin. “Okay, okay, theory: we’re underdressed.”

“You want us in formalwear?” Tyler suggests, and they both break down into giggles again. “Can you really picture Derek in top hat and tails?”

“Sure, if they were bloodied up and torn and covered in, like…tangible misery,” Dylan protests. Tyler presses his face against his throat and drapes himself over Dylan as he laughs helplessly. Dylan takes the opportunity to nuzzle eagerly at his hair and grab a handful of his ass. “But that’s not what I mean. I think we’re lacking a leather jacket, at least. Right?”

“Right, no, good call,” Tyler agrees. “And a plaid shirt, maybe?”

“Yup. Right. Okay. Wardrobe raid,” Dylan says decisively. He heads towards the door and is nearly through before he realises Tyler is following him. “Whoa! Where d’you think you’re going?”

“Wardrobe?” Tyler offers, as if this is perfectly reasonable. Which it is, Dylan realises, but it’s not what he wants. He holds him back with a hand on his shoulder. His huge, rippling shoulder. Okay, so maybe he feels Hoechlin up a little as he holds him back.

“Nope.”

“No?”

“No. If we get caught, I don’t want you being sent down too,” Dylan declares, just to hear Hoechlin laugh again. It works.

“Yeah? You’re willing to do time for me? Even though this was all my idea?”

“Totally, babe,” Dylan assures him with a grin. “I’ll go down for you. Will you wait for me?”

“Of course.”

“And come for conjugal visits?”

Tyler’s snorting with laughter again. “We could do Derek and Stiles roleplaying prison sex? In the sheriff’s office?”

“Yo, dawg,” Dylan laughs. “I put some roleplay in your roleplay so you can roleplay while you roleplay.”

“What?”

“Really? Xzibit? No?” Dylan blinks, and presses an impulsive kiss to Hoechlin’s bemused lips. “Never mind. It’s an internet thing. Now,” he adds, striking a dramatic pose, “I’m going to go and get supplies, and you’re going to stay here and…and…”

“And?” Tyler asks. Dylan smirks.

“Look sexy until I get back? Or, y’know,” he laughs, as Tyler adopts a ridiculous position; he turns away from Dylan, sticks his ass out, and aims a coquettish look over his shoulder as his eyebrows waggle, “Just stand there looking like _that_ , you giant dork, and I’ll be, like, ten minutes. At most. Okay?”

“Okay,” agrees Tyler, and plants a final kiss on his lips before frogmarching him out of the door. He gives him an encouraging pat on the ass that has Dylan laughing as he sneaks across the set towards wardrobe.

He finds a plaid shirt easily enough, given that he wears them in every scene. Tyler’s familiar leather jacket takes a bit more searching, but eventually he has it in his eager hands.

When he gets back to Tyler’s dressing room, he bangs three times on the door, opens it just wide enough to toss the shirt inside then quickly closes it again. He can hear Hoechlin chuckling from within.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m gonna make a big entrance, Derek-style. Just put that on, okay?” he calls through the door. He can’t quite stop himself glancing around, as if people might prefer following him around the set to whooping it up at the Christmas party. He smiles as he hears rustling, then Tyler laughing to himself. “What? What is it?”

“You’ll see,” Tyler chuckles.

Dylan clears his throat, looks around furtively, then pulls on the leather jacket he’s been holding to his chest. He can’t help but inhale deeply as he pulls it around himself; it smells of leather, which he adores, and slightly of sweat, because when _isn’t_ Hoechlin performing a hardcore, kick-ass stunt? But mostly it smells of _Tyler_ , dark and warm and soothing, and Dylan breathes him in.

Okay. Okay, they’re totally doing this. He straightens the jacket, and tries to clear his head. 

He’s not Dylan O’Brien. He’s not even Stiles Stilinski. He’s _Derek Hale_ , reporting for duty. That duty being…whatever the hell he and Tyler get up to.

He schools his features into something he imagines looks moody and brooding, and shoulders his way into the room. He locks the door behind him before he turns to face Hoechlin.

And promptly loses it.

“Oh, man,” he laughs, cracking up helplessly at the sight of Tyler. He’s standing across the small room, wearing a pair of sneakers, jeans, a t-shirt that proclaims ‘WHAT’S UP, BEACHES’, and atop it all, a plaid shirt taken straight from Stiles’ wardrobe. Which means, of course, that it’s at least two sizes too small for him. He’s managed to get his hands through the sleeves, but with those shoulders it was never going to fit comfortably; it’s on, just about, but it’s hopelessly rucked up under the armpits, and he can practically hear the tortured strain of material from across the room.

It doesn’t help that Hoechlin is dissolving into laughter before his very eyes.

Dylan coughs through his laughter, and tries to pull himself together. He’s _Derek Hale_ , and Derek Hale _does not giggle_.

He opens with a roll of his eyes, thinking that seems safe enough. “Stiles.”

“Derek,” Tyler splutters in return. Dylan raises an eyebrow, really trying hard to get into character. This is Tyler’s fantasy, after all. He wants to have Derek Hale treat him like he would Stiles. The least Dylan can do for him is _try_ to make it happen.

It’s just really hard, with Tyler laughing himself silly across the room. He feels a grin trying to crack on his face. He forces it back desperately, and tries to think like Derek. What would Derek do if he saw Stiles laughing like an idiot?

He goes with his first instinct, and stalks across the room, backing Tyler up ahead of him. He goes easily enough, letting Dylan herd him until his back hits the wall with a small grunt. He tilts his head at Tyler, and lets his lips spread into a small smirk as he tugs pointedly at the hopelessly ill-fitting shirt. “D’you use the wrong laundry cycle, Stiles?” he tries, keeping his voice light, and taunting.

Tyler swallows, his grin threatening to resurface, before he seems to shrink back a little; he schools his grin into a brief smirk instead. “Huh. I’m actually surprised you know what laundry _is_. I figured you just try to beat the blood out of your clothes with your fists. Or maybe - maybe you scowl at them until they spontaneously clean themselves out of fear?”

Dylan swallows his laughter, and lets his hands fist in the ridiculous shirt. “Here,” he says mildly, and gives a good, hard tug, dragging the shirt down his arms. “Let me help.”

“Because you’re _so_ good at helping?” Tyler fires back, all bravado and attitude, but he lets Dylan pull the shirt away. He strokes his hands down Tyler’s forearms after he’s bared them, making sure to dig his nails in pointedly. Man, it would be awesome if he had the fake werewolf claws, but it looks like this is working well enough for Hoechlin; he shivers at Dylan’s touch. “What do you _want_ , Derek?” he sighs, and makes to slip out from beneath him.

Nope. Dylan slams his hands either side of Tyler’s head, and smirks as he cringes back. His palms are kind of protesting, but it’s worth it for the catch of Tyler’s breath in the silence. “You,” he says, pleasantly, and lets his eyes drag over Tyler’s face as he speaks; darting from his wide green eyes, to the flush in his cheeks, to his temptingly parted lips. “That’s what I want. _You_.”

“Are you kidding me?” Tyler hisses, and he shoots a look at the door. He’s stifling a smile, but he manages to hold it back, and snaps, “You think you can just barge your way in here and -”

“ - use you?” Dylan suggests. He lets one hand slide through Hoechlin’s hair, nails scritching pointedly at his scalp before he rests his palm against his stubbled cheek. “You’ve never stopped me before.”

“Not stopping you isn’t the same as wanting it,” Tyler snaps, and breaks off with a shaky whine when Dylan steps closer and slots their bodies together. It’s not exactly as he thinks it would be with Derek and Stiles, but he does his best; he keeps his legs spread wide and puffs his chest out while he rocks his hips against Tyler’s. He smirks, dark and predatory, at the feel of his stiffened prick.

“Oh? I think it is,” he murmurs. He traces the tip of one nail down from his cheek to his throat, and gently guides his head back, forcibly baring his throat as Hoechlin swallows hard. “I think the fact that you’re hard in your pants at the mere thought of me using you is proof enough that you want this. Want _me_.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Hoechlin forces out. His hands close over Dylan’s shoulders, and that drags a smile from him. He can never quite believe how large Tyler’s hands are in comparison to his own slim frame. He tries to cling to his character, and lets his teeth scrape over Hoechlin’s bared throat, tonguing over his pounding pulse and smirking as it increases. “Ah - crap - get the hell off me! We’re not - I’m not doing this again, Derek! I don’t want this!”

“You’re lying,” Dylan murmurs. He presses his lips against Hoechlin’s ear, tugging sharply at the lobe. “You know you can’t lie to me, Stiles. I can _hear_ it. Turn around.”

“No!”

“I said,” he scowls, and rocks hard against him, pressing his firm dick against Tyler’s and grinding hard, “ _Turn around_.”

He does so after a pause, with an annoyed exhale and pointed reluctance in his movements. Dylan has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing.

Tyler presses his hands to the wall without being asked, and Dylan slides his own hands atop them, dragging his nails between his fingers before linking them with his own. He takes advantage of his round, firm ass for awhile, grinding against it with smooth rolls of his hips, crowding close and keeping Tyler exactly where he wants him. 

Neither of them bother speaking for awhile, making no noise beyond the harsh pants of their breathing. When Dylan finally trails one hand down his arm, ghosting down over his chest and stomach to settle over the hard press of his cock through his jeans, Hoechlin gives in. “Oh my god,” he whimpers desperately. “Please?”

“Please, what?” Dylan asks, his own voice low and rough. Rutting against Tyler‘s backside has left his prick stiff and keen for more direct action, but he can‘t resist the chance to play into Derek‘s bitchiness as much as possible. “What do you want, Stiles?”

“More! Jeez!”

“Oh?” Dylan asks, and punctuates it with a rough thrust of his hips. “I thought you didn’t - ”

“ - forget what I thought! I want - I need you to touch me, okay? Just touch me!”

“There now, that‘s a good boy. Was that _really_ so hard?” Dylan asks in a sing-song voice, and smirks against his throat when Tyler laughs to himself.

“Whatever you say, _Peter_.”

Dylan can’t quite hold back the giggle, and distracts himself by biting gently at the back of Tyler’s neck. That soon turns into sucking a hickey there, worrying at his skin with his teeth, and Tyler’s laugh turns into a moan. “Are you kidding me? You have to mark me?”

“I like to mark my property,” he murmurs, and grins at the appreciative shiver he gets in return.

“Hey. I’m aware you’re the alpha now, and you’re kind of on one long power trip,” Tyler snaps, “But you do _not_ own me. Jackass. I’m not even in your little pack, okay?”

“Okay,” Dylan shrugs, his course of action suddenly clear. He takes a deep breath and backs away, keeping his eyes focussed on Tyler as he whines in protest.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Not my pack,” he says pointedly. “So I guess you’re not mine to use, huh?”

“What?” Tyler spits, and Dylan beams as he turns his head, but doesn’t turn around. He remains where he’s been put, his expression anguished. “You can - I’m not - oh my _god_ , I can not be yours and still want…”

“Want what?”

Tyler swallows, and thunks his head off the wall in frustration. “Want you to use me,” he mutters.

Dylan grins. “Prove it.”

“How?” Tyler fires back immediately, and Dylan takes another deep breath.

“You could unfasten your pants?”

“Is that a suggestion?” asks Tyler smartly, and Dylan nods sharply.

“I’m your alpha. It’s an _order_. Unfasten your pants!” he demands. He smirks when Tyler waits for a moment, not so much as breathing, before struggling to get himself unzipped. “That’s right. Pull ‘em down, just as far as your knees. Underwear too.”

Tyler grumbles to himself under his breath, and Dylan laughs softly. “I heard that,” he lies, and grins as Hoechlin shoots him an amused look, eyes shining over his shoulder.

Dylan looks around the trailer desperately, before zeroing in on a bottle of lotion. Thank you, Tyler Hoechlin, for being a moisturising metrosexual man. He scoops it up and returns to Tyler, shucking his own pants down to his thighs. The feel of the leather jacket rubbing against his bare ass has him chuckling as he squeezes a generous splodge of lotion into his palm, rubbing it over both hands.

“What’re you doing?” Tyler complains, glancing back at him. “You mind if we hurry the hell up already? My dad’s due to finish work in, like, thirty seconds. You want him to catch you in here, huh? A wanted criminal defiling his only son?”

“I was exonerated,” Dylan snaps, and grasps Tyler’s firm prick roughly with one hand while he slicks his own up with the other. His fake-irritation falls apart when they both squeak simultaneously at the unexpectedly cool touch of the lotion, and Dylan buries his face in Tyler’s shoulder as he giggles helplessly.

When he speaks, Tyler’s voice is thick with barely repressed laughter. “You’re a real suave wolf, you know that?”

“Yeah, I learned it at the community college alpha course,” Dylan splutters. “Cool Wolfliness 101.”

“Yeah?” Tyler is grinning, his words breathless as Dylan slicks up his cock, palming him roughly as he fists his own dick. “D’you pass?”

“Nah, I flunked out,” Dylan laughs. “I was much too busy stalking high school students and lurking in dark corners to do my coursework.” He chuckles as he wipes his hand at the back of Hoechlin’s thighs, smearing the junction where ass meets thigh with lotion.

“What’re you doing?” Tyler asks again, squirming restlessly. He sounds happy enough to let Dylan do whatever the hell he wants, so long as he keeps pumping his dick with long, smooth squeezes.

Dylan tries to collect himself. “I was thinking I’d fuck your thighs,” he growls, and makes his point by thrusting his dick between Tyler’s legs, groaning at the touch of yielding flesh.

Tyler gasps, and it turns into a moan when Dylan flicks his wrist and thumbs the head of his leaking prick. “You okay with that?” Dylan asks.

“Yes, yeah, hell, go to town,” Tyler groans, before shuffling his legs closer together. “Here, let me - is this better?”

“Definitely!” Dylan gasps, thrusting against the tight, slippery heat of his body.

It’s messy, and kind of awkward with their pants shoved around their thighs, but Dylan couldn’t give a shit and Tyler definitely doesn’t seem care. He keeps one hand pressed to the wall as he rocks fluidly into Dylan’s hand, and twines the other with the hand curled possessively around his waist as Dylan thrusts against him. Tyler comes first, groaning low and rough as his hips stutter and jerk, and Dylan is not too far behind him, spurting hot and sticky against his ass.

“So,” Tyler says, long moments later, after his breathing has settled a little. To be honest, Dylan had been too preoccupied with the hypnotic rise and fall of his shoulders to realise silence had fallen. “If that was an audition for Stiles, I think I pretty much failed.”

“Nah,” Dylan laughs. After pressing a loud smack of a kiss to Tyler’s stubbled cheek he stumbles back, dutifully looking for something to clean Hoechlin up with. He glances around for tissues and eventually gives up in favour of grabbing the discarded plaid shirt and wiping them both down with it. It’s kind of gross, and he’s sure wardrobe would kick his ass if they found out, but there’s a dry cleaners on his route home. It’ll be fine, if super-embarrassing to drop off. “I think we did okay,” he yawns as he yanks his pants up then does the same for Tyler. Once he has his arms around his waist, it seems ridiculous _not_ to snuggle against him, so Dylan follows his instincts again and presses his head against Hoechlin‘s shoulder. “Especially for a first effort. With no script, even.”

“I doubt scripting that would have helped,” Tyler laughs softly. He turns and sprawls back against the wall, dragging Dylan comfortably into his arms. “Can you imagine? Getting a script like that? We’ll just have to keep trying until we can get in character, I guess,” he sighs, and Dylan doesn’t miss the hopeful note in his voice. He nuzzles up against Hoechlin and presses an enthusiastic kiss to his lips.

“Yup. Lotsa tries. Lotsa different characters, too. Hey, next time,” he grins stupidly, “How about you be the kanima, and I’ll be, uh…Gerard.”

“Wow,” Tyler giggles. “That - yeah, that’s the sexiest. Thanks for that image. Will you wear an old man hat for me?”

“I will honestly wear anything you’d care to steal from the wardrobe department,” Dylan grins, and laughs at the sudden gleam in Tyler‘s eyes. “Y’know, if you ever find yourself on set with a spare moment.”

“Uh-huh,” Tyler says slowly. “The, uh. The New Year’s party is, like, a week away. I bet we can sneak into wardrobe again then.”

Dylan grins. “Deal.”


End file.
